


This Perfect Sphere

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: BDSM, Drama, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, S&M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-16
Updated: 1999-09-16
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: DARK SLASH! Horror warning! Mountie damage! Macon Lacroix from The Edge/Fraser





	This Perfect Sphere

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

 

 

 

This Perfect Sphere, due South Slash

*~* STOP! ! ! *~*

This is a DARK slash story. It's got a major blood and guts warning!

After a little discussion in The Closet email list, I finally decided to just stick this on DSX, and in Hexwood, and then run and hide. Don't read this if you have a weak stomach, have a weak heart, don't want to have nightmares, or are desperately in cute love with Fraser and only want to see him surrounded by butterflies, flowers and little cherubs. 

Spoilers for The Edge. Fraser/Macon Lacroix  Rated NR for violence and BG for blood and guts. DARK SLASH!  Written in first-person-bizarro style. Pay attention to where the quote marks are, and are not. If it's not in quotes, its not said aloud. 

THIS  PERFECT  SPHERE

by Mitch Hudson

You  thought you were doing the right thing but you were wrong because you didn't understand the philosophy of life as a perfect sphere. 

You gasp in mortal pain, your mouth stretched into an oval large enough for me to fit my sizable fist into, and for the moment I pause to consider this erotic image. Then the salty sweat of terror beading on your forehead distracts me and I lean down and kiss-suck the little space between your eyebrows. You shudder beneath me, your skin cold and clammy with shock, mottled with bruises and I smile, knowing your mind is unable to handle the overload of physical and mental sensations I have bestowed on you these past eight hours alone here in our forest hide-away. 

"I told you I was a man of nature when you hunted me down in the woods. I told you when you captured me in the NAFTA conference that you were wrong." 

"Benton, sweet Benton. Your juices are like nectar." I walk on my knees down the hard bed I will no longer sleep alone on and sit at your waist then stroke a hand down one of the many rows of burn blisters on your ribs, delighting in the pattern the heated metal rod made on your so very white, white flesh. So pale, so delicate. Using the edge of the hot metal has left long bars of raised skin, angry red streaks that are crowned by swollen blisters. I press one and you make a mewling noise. I wonder if the juice inside will taste as sweet as the rest of what I've sucked from your body this glorious night? 

 I pop some of the burn blisters, heedless of your flinch and watch the clear fluid ooze from you. I smile in satisfaction and dip my finger into the liquid. 

I crawl up the bed and force my finger past your cracked and bleeding lips. The pain that has burned up all your body's supply of energy hasn't even spared you enough vigor to tug away from my ministrations. For the past two hours of our love-making I have left your ankles untied. Your struggles had become so feeble that my heart was warmed to see each flinch you managed to make. 

Laden with your fluid my finger slides past your teeth and I smile, waiting for you to attempt to bite me. The previous times you tried that I forced my fingers deeper, past your uvula. My skin is faintly marked from your weak efforts, but yours is marked much deeper. Much deeper. I fancied I could feel your vocal cords that last time, the time you turned that dusky shade of blue as I choked you with my fingers lodged down your warm and inviting throat. 

The blood mixed with your saliva darkens then obscures the pre-pustule fluid I've fed you and I lose interest; you haven't the strength or mental concentration to close your teeth against my invasion. Now my gaze wanders to your torn nipples. Such a shame, the state they're in now. They were so saucy, so irreverent and now they're just ruined gaping maws of unsavoriness. I push my thumbs into the shredded wounds and feel my way around under the skin. You manage to produce a cry that could almost be heard outside our sequestered love-nestif there were someone out there to hear it. But there isn't. We're well secluded. I almost regret not having to gag you once I had your drugged body tied to my bed. You spoke so eloquently when you regained consciousness, trying to reason with me, to dissuade me, to gain your freedom. But I would not have missed the thrill of hearing the progression from reason to screams of disbelief at the increasing pain you experienced as I began my methodical ingress of your body. 

"That first scream you uttered, my beautiful man, shocked you, didn't it?" I laugh at the memory of the surprise you showed as your body responded to the sweet love I made with it. 

"You prize your intellect as much as I do my own. We are kindred spirits, you and I, both men who love the untamed land, both men who value freedom of movement and find the highest degree of happiness in solitude. That's why we're such perfect lovers." I knew it could be like this the moment I saw you sleeping so piously in your bed those long months ago. I stood in the secret darkness of your room that first time I saw you up close, watching the drugged wolf slumber, watching the steady rise and fall of your pale chest. And I knew. 

I withdraw, careful to keep your blood covering my thumbs. I kneel between your thighs and reflexively you spread them, flinching away from the torment the bamboo shoots I've inserted and woven through the skin and muscles in your inner thighs cause when I roughly knee your legs. I gaze in appreciation at the sight of your crotch. Your scrotum is purple. The wires wrapped around your nut sack, the thin copper separating and stretching out each gonad glistens warmly. I frown. The lower pair of electricity leads should have been detached before I dipped my thumbs with the red lubricant. After rectifying this mistake I push my thumbs in your nipples again and your mewling protest is barely audible, then I spread your asscheeks. I push both thumbs in your rectum and work the new blood in with the old. The sound is delightful; wet and warm and soft, all words that are testament to the passion we've shared these past few hours. 

"Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?" You don't answer and I look up at your face and see your eyes fluttering. I thrust my thumbs in and pull your sphincter as far open as I can. You gasp and I grin. "Much better." Your thighs quiver and I'm not sure if it's in response to the bamboo or the pain my thumbs are causing to the rips and punctures my fat reed bundle created in your bowels. 

The copper wire is a regret. I'd have preferred to only touch your body with organic substances, or tools I, alone, manufactured. The ropes that bind your wrists, I made myself from hemp. The woven grasses around your neck, I plucked myself from a river bank. The various apparatuses I've used on your swollen and misshapen hands, your twisted and shattered fingers, were carved from woods that grow locally here. 

"You and I share such an appreciation of nature," I whisper seductively as I remove my thumbs and repeat the most intimate of contacts we've had during our brief love-affair. As your bloody recess welcomes my cock inside I lock my gaze on the muscles of your neck that even now fight against the tough grass binding I made for your neck. I knew you'd find synergy in my choice of materials. But I had to have something that would conduct the energy from the generator to you, hence the presence of the copper in our communion. And of course I regret the use of the thin iron rod I pushed down your urethra tube as well as the hot iron I used on your ribs earlier. 

Like a dark thundercloud moving over me the desire to orgasm pushes me to beat my hips against your pelvis. The grating of a shattered hip, the popping of tendons over misplaced bones hurries me toward completion and my cum mixes with your blood and feces. Your body is unable to respond, to welcome my love as it did earlier, with some sign of animation. I sigh in disappointment and back away from you. 

Forcefully I sheathe one hand into your bloody rectum and am still able to reach the switch on the lead connected to that iron rod. As a small amount of electricity crackles through your penis your ass spasms around my wrist. I increase the voltage and I smile as I see nothing but white showing in the slits of your eyes now. Dark saliva slides from the corners of your mouth. It's a bit foamy and I think on the broken ribs you sustained when I stomped on you at eleven o'clock last night. Perhaps a lung has been punctured. I don't regret it though; it was a great way to wake you from the drug-induced stupor. If a lung wasn't punctured by one of your ribs then, perhaps it happened later when I was using that heavy willow branch on your torso. 

I lean on your right thigh and feel the snapped bones grate together. I increase the electricity flow. 

Your ass makes sweet love to my hand, caressing, cajoling me in deeper, squeezing my wrist, now caressing my forearm. "Oh, Benton, lover. How deep will you draw me in?" I marvel at your erotic nature. 

"You were wrong to cause me such grief by incarcerating me. You and I are kindred spirits. Our souls are alike as the matching halves of a walnut. You should have known that in *your* soul and listened to your heart. You were wrong for allowing them to imprison me. You should have allowed that partner of yours" 

I pause, the bitterness I feel at knowing that loathsome, skinny man has made love to you before me fills me with rage. My hand inside you surges deep, delivering a blow from a fist that marks you like not even he has ever done. When I found him in bed with you I almost brought him here too. 

I work hard to get myself under control, then I continue. "You should have allowed him to shoot me. You were wrong. But the world is a sphere and perfect in its symmetrical design. Like a drop of the purest water suspended in space, Benton. Stricken, then left alone, it will return to its perfect shape." 

The door splinters open and that hated apparitionthe skinny man who debauched you, who plucked my Benton-flower before I got a chance tohe enters our blissful hide-away. I see his gun and his eyes and know I'll die with my fingers brushing your internal organs. I'm content in that moment because the sphere of water has returned to the perfect shape it was before you struck it out of balance by talking me out of dying at the NAFTA conference. 

"That's why I brought you here, to a place I wouldn't have to gag you." 

"Vecchio can finish the task now. But first I had to force you to talk to me again, to make sure I could withstand your sultry and persuasive words. Sweet Benton, your voice is so seductive that I had to see, I had to know if I could withstand your" 

* *

If I had killed Lacroix two years ago . . . If I had not succumbed to the chloroform when he came back for Benny . . . If I had trailed Lacroix sooner . . . If I'd made sure I was notified if he escaped . . . If . . . If . . . 

"But you see, Fraser doesn't talk. I mean he only whispers a few words now and then. And when I close my eyes I can't help seeing why, can't help hearing Lacroix's words as he" 

"My bullet caught him in the chest. I mean, my first bullet caught him in the chest. My second one went close to the first. I would have emptied the whole clip right in that spot but spreading them out a little helped move his body back off Fraser some. I didn't fully realize he was held in place. I mean, he was held there. I mean . . . I fired eight of the thirteen-round clip into his chest. The other five shots went into his head and neck. You know how sometimes people will say they black out and not remember firing a few shots? Not me. Not that time. I remember each one. I remember the sound, the jump, the recoil, the tang blasting into the air. The heat. I remember each squeeze of the trigger, the concussion of the airwave as it hit me. Blowback." 

"And my backup. It's a little six cylinder. Those slugs went in him too." 

"His body was kind of jerking. But he didn't fall away. He was kind of . . . held there against Fraser. Then he was dead. And still inside . . . Fraser. And I was all there was. I mean there wasn't anyone with me. I don't want to decide if that was good or not." 

"So BennySo Fraser was alive. I don't want you thinking of him as Benny. That's too intimate. But he was alive. I saw that. I mean I could see that he was alive. And no. I'll never contemplate if that was a good thing or not either. So I turned off the electricity. Then I had to take Macon Lacroix out of him. And I did that. I did that. I did. I . . . I did that. I pulledI just did it. And so like I said, I was alone there. So Fraser was alive. I could see that." 

"And there were some ropes to untie. I looked at the ropes and I untied them. I untied both ropes and there was another one on Benny'son Fraser's neck and I took that off. I could see he was alive. I could see him. Alive. So then I had to do something about all this because like I said I was the only one there, so it was up to me." 

"I dumped the dead body on the floor and I could see Fraser's eyes were not quite open, and they weren't quite closed. I tried to speak to him. I said the usual stuff. He was safe. It was me there and I'd come to get him out of this hell-hole and that I'd take him to a hospital and then I saw the foam, the red foam he was breathing. I'm not sure if my words were spoken out loud, but I can remember each wave of blowback from each slug leaving my weapons." 

"There are a lot of things you're supposed to do. And a lot of things you're not supposed to do. I did some of each. You realize by this time both my weapons were empty. Macon Lacroix was totally dead but still I would have preferred to just still be shooting him. That's what I'd preferred to have been doing . . . " 

"Give me a minute, okay? 

"Like I said I did some of the right things. I tried to see where the majority of the blood was coming from, but that Lacroix? He'd painted with it. Painted with blood. So it wasn't as easy to see what was bleeding as it was to see that Benny was alive. So anyway his chest" 

"His stomach had some wounds on it and so I pulled off my shirt and covered him from neck to" 

"I took the other thing out of him. I tried not to hear his sounds. Maybe he wasn't making any. Maybe I mean, he wasn't speaking any sounds but there were sounds. Wet . . ." 

"I was retching. I was cold and clammy with shock, you know? You know how you feel when you're in shock? Anyway the wires came off easily. I saw the pieces of wood in his legs and left them. I was retching. So I had to make a decision, to carry him out and hurt him more or wait for an ambulance that would take hours to get all the way out here. I was retching and I had to quit that first." 

"So I made a decision and went with it, made a call, informed the emergency operator who'd set things in motion and an emergency medical team was dispatched in my direction. They'd start searching maps for a place to land a helicopter between me and the hospital I was going to head for." 

"I had covered him with my shirt. I didn't want to use Lacroix's sheet, but I did. Bundled Fraser up and dragged him out to the car. I knew bending him to lift him would be worse because of the red foam coming out of his mouth. Sliding him was easier, and at the cabin's front porch I had to stop and pick him up anyway. I tried not to hear the sounds he made. I had trouble sliding him into the car and everything around us was soaked in blood now.  I just laid him across the front seat then slipped in, lifting his head into my lap to drive." 

"As I drove the smell of blood filled the car and I was starting to retch again. I rolled down the window. I could feel him against me. I had to keep my eyes on the road regardless of everything else. The helicopter reached us first at the intersection of some damned farmroads. They'd called me on my cell phone repeatedly to coordinate our directions. I stopped and the paramedic team was out and swarming over my car in seconds. They took him out and put him on a stretcher then carried him to the chopper. They asked me if I was hurt and I didn't answer, just climbed in the chopper. If I'd said no they'd have made me stay there on the side of that black road, you know." 

"And I watched them unwrap him" And watched them react and watched them try not to and watched them look at him. And I watched them start to treat what they saw. "I think they were worried most about the red foam too." 

"All through this, I could see the outline of lip prints, made in blood on his left cheek." Macon Lacroix had pressed his blood-covered lips right there to Benny's cheek 

"At one point during all thisMacon'd kissed him with blood. Can you imagine that? I watched that bloody kiss as the paramedics worked and as the chopper flew on through a blue-black sky. There was more than one bloody kiss print showing on his face and neck but I only watched that one. Most of what they do in helicopters is stabilize the patient. They did that and at the hospital doctors would try to undo what Macon Lacroix had done." 

I followed the gourney out onto the roof, under the wash of the helicopter's rotor, across the black tarmac, out of the yellow circle, into the morning sunrise and out of that, into the antiseptic smells of a hospital. 

"I couldn't even retch any more." 

"I got stopped at some set of doors and told to wait and finally I quit everything because I wasn't all there was anymore. I mean I wasn't alone and wasn't the one who had to deal with all this any more so I just quit. Apparently my body quit. I know my mind did. I have a bump on the back of my head where I hit the floor." 

"They worked on his body a long time. It took a long time to undo what they could undo. I don't know how long. I mean, I don't know how long the doctors worked on him that day." 

"So the point of all this was that they catalogued all the stuff, repaired what they could and got the rest ready to heal and left him alone. So now I'm here." 

"And I'm the only one again." 

"Things are like that. They tend to come back around to how they were before. I had a chance once to kill Macon Lacroix. Things came around again to that point and so I did. I killed him." 

"Somehow . . . don't you agree, somehow that the philosophy that says things are like circles or spheres, that's wrong? Because sure . . . things came back around to where they were before but it's not at all the same, is it? Because . . . you see . . . Benny will not talk any more." And every time I close my eyes, every time I try to sleep . . . I hear Lacroix's words, what he said about why he had taken Benny, and, and I know why. 

end. 

Now don't you dare flame me. I WARNED you! If you have to sleep with the lights on, or are now afraid of cabins in the woods, its not my fault! And if you tossed your cookies, well, I'm real sorry. 

Disclaimer: I own due South. I own the copywrite and can do anything with the characters I want to. I make loads and loads of money off my fan fiction, just like all the other fan fic writers in the world. Am I lying? Possibly. Is that prosecutable? In Duluth, maybe. Who actually owns due South? Alliance thinks they do. We fans humor them. Sure, sure. Alliance owns due South. Uh huh. 

 Mitch_H@hotmail.com

  


End file.
